


You Have My Heart (Your Every Breath Keeps My Heart Beating)

by orphan_account



Series: I Will Be Here, Quietly, Always [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, and this is fluff, idk there is blood, mentions lexa and clarke and what appears to be a romantic relationship between them, there is always blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 03:40:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Monroe learns Trigedasleng and Octavia comes home a little worse for wear. Undated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Have My Heart (Your Every Breath Keeps My Heart Beating)

The first difference between English and Trigedasleng, as Monroe discovers, is their lack of 'the' and 'a'. It's not anything she can't work around, it's just... an inconvenience.  
Monroe struggles with Trigedasleng. Since moving in with Octavia to TonDC from Camp Jaha, she had felt the need to learn the language of her new neighbors, no matter how challenging it would prove. It’s easier to handle when Octavia is around to teach her, but when she’s trying to write little messages in the Grounder language, or trying to learn phrases to whisper into her ear before the brunette falls asleep... well... she’s thankful that Clarke has picked up on those phrases during her time spent in Lexa’s bed. It’s nice to have someone around who won’t actively judge you for asking how to say “I’ll love you ‘till the Earth stops spinning” in Trigedasleng, even if it’s stuttered and broken.  
Monroe thinks she’s starting to get soft.  
Octavia doesn't return to their tent that night. None of the members of their scavenging team return. There is an air of fear that lingers around the camp. It has been ages since an entire party disappeared, and the unrest with the mountain men do not make the Grounders any easier. There is muttering at the wall throughout the night, extra guards posted on watch, waiting patiently for their friends to return.  
Monroe worries. She knows that the Grounders will not send a team to search for her girlfriend. If they don't make it back by themselves, they will be left behind. She distracts herself from her worrying, pointless, she believes, Octavia has been trained by the finest, by working on her Trigedasleng, holding short conversations with Grounder women by the fires. The Grounders don't like her, she notices. Monroe supposes that they're still nervous, cautious of a gona amongst them. Monroe understands. She would be worried too, if the situation had been reversed.  
That night, the bed feels too empty, too cold. Monroe thinks about the two of them. She wonders if she should have told Octavia that she loved her, before she went out with the scavenging party. She thinks and thinks, until her thoughts put her to a fitful sleep.

\--

Octavia returns in the early morning, the sun barely past the horizon.  
Monroe stirs from under the furs as there is clamoring at the wall. The horn wakes her, but it is the flurry of noise and movement that sends her to her feet and towards the wall, dressed in little more than her shirt and cargo pants.  
The air is chilly in the crisp morning, but it is not the cold that sends a shiver down her spine as the small entourage enters through the main gates.  
Monroe breaks out into a run when she sees Octavia staggering in, and holds out her arms as the worn brunette falls into them.  
Worse for wear would be an understatement. The party is missing two, and everybody is bleeding and, oh god, Lincoln is missing an ear.  
In her arms, Octavia starts to stir. She mutters something into Monroe’s chest, and mumbles.  
Monroe frowns, pulling Octavia away a little. “Did you say something?” She sees a gash over Octavia’s forehead, the blood staining her jacket, and winces.  
“Pauna”. She says, her voice raspy and dry, “Pauna.”  
Monroe looks at Nyko who is currently bogged down by the six other members of the party, and quietly, helps her limp into your tent. You aren’t useless when it comes to being a medic. You’re not trained, but a gash you can do. There is blood running down her thigh and her face, and Monroe is pretty sure that her jacket and pant leg is stained red now. They can be washed off, but Octavia? Octavia comes first.  
Monroe sits Octavia down on a bench, where she slouches over, unmoving. Monroe sighs a little, then drags out a small basin of water, and wets a cloth, running it over Octavia’s brow and wiping off the dirt and blood. Octavia just kind of sits there. She moves when Monroe shifts her face to try and get to the gash, but she doesn’t flinch when Monroe gets water into the wound, nor does she react when Monroe taps her shoulder.  
Monroe lets out a frustrated sigh. “Octavia, I need you to step out of your pants. You’re wearing nice jeans, and I need to get to the wound, and I really don’t want to have to cut them off.”  
Octavia stills for a moment, then stands up, and tugs her jeans down, whimpering when the waistband cuts against her wound.  
If Monroe was completely honest and the situation was less dire, her mouth dried up just a little.  
“Oh my god...” She mutters, looking at the two slash marks and the already bruising skin, “How big is that thing?”  
“Too big” Octavia mutters, “too big.”  
Monroe kneels on the ground and starts to clean away the grime from the wound. Octavia grunts in pain, and hisses when Monroe presses too hard into the purple flesh.  
“I’m sorry.” Monroe says, laying a kiss to the tender skin. She grabs cloth bandages, what little she has left since she left Camp Jaha, and wraps it around the wound. Standing up, she pulls the jacket and torn shirt from Octavia’s shoulder and leads her to the bed, laying her down to rest.  
“Gah. That hurts.” The brunette mutters, turning onto her side.  
Monroe slides in next to her, running a hand over Octavia’s bare back. “Sleep. I’ll be here.”  
Minutes later, Octavia’s breathing has evened out, and Monroe continues to sit there, drawing little patterns on her back with the pads of her fingers. Slowly, she moves her fingers to spell out words.  
Oktavia. Gona. Kom Trikru. She smiles, and pauses.  
Ai hod you in. She smiles as she feels her finger glide over the skin beneath it, and writes it again and again. Ai hod you in. Ai hod you in.  
Octavia grumbles from underneath her. “I love you too, you adorable idiot.”

**Author's Note:**

> Trigedasleng from David J. Peterson's Tumblr, dedalvs. Drop a comment or kudo if you liked it!


End file.
